


The Seventh Friend

by bobtherat



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtherat/pseuds/bobtherat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mike had lived next to Chandler's and Joey's? What if he had spent his days raiding Monica's fridge and sitting through Ross and Rachel's break-ups and make-ups? What if he had hung out at Central Perk every afternoon next to the woman who would become the love of his life and her best friends? What if Mike Hannigan had been a part of the gang all along?<br/>A Mike-and-Phoebe-centric AU based on random Friends episodes. Mike Hannigan's POV. All main characters included after prologue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seventh Friend

Mike let out a little whistle as he fished for the keys inside his briefcase, smiling as he heard the notes to Paul McCartney's 'Here, There, and Everywhere' from his own mouth instead of his head where it had been playing all day. It wasn't very easy, digging through an overly stuffed bag for a tiny piece of metal, especially when he was hugging a pot of orchids to his chest at the same time, but he didn't mind. He was already happy just getting home, and knowing that if he stood in front of the apartment long enough, somebody was bound to come and open the door. It took a couple minutes but the key finally brushed against his fingers and he took it out. ' _Changing my life with a wave of her hand_ ,' he inserted the key into the knob, singing quietly as he did. The door swung open before he could even turn to unlock it.

"Dada!"

Mike heard the excited squeal and suddenly, a pair of arms were clinging onto his right leg. _Home sweet home_.

"Hi, Soph!" he trudged into the apartment, smiling wide at the toddler attached to his leg and dragging the extra weight along with a mild grunt.

"Hey, Dad! _Hey, dad-man_ ," another voice drawled, drifting into melody. Mike looked up to see MJ walking toward him. The boy had a guitar slung over his shoulder and was wearing denim pants and a loose chain around his neck besides nothing else. He swished his thick brown mane around for a second before tucking a lock of it behind his ear.

"Hey, little naked son-man," Mike noted his rather daring get-up. "Could you give me a hand with these please?," he said, struggling with his briefcase and the flower pot.

MJ reached over. " _Naked Sunman…_ ," he drawled thoughtfully, grabbing his father's briefcase and setting it down by the console. "That's a really cool title, dad," he took the orchids carefully into both hands. "These for mom?"

"You bet," Mike said, crouching a little to pick up Sophie. The little girl clung to her father possessively.

"Sweet," MJ nodded, absentmindedly. He set the flowers on top of the console and gave his father a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the couch to pick at his guitar.

Mike snickered and turned his attention to the three-year-old in his arms. "Hi, angel," he whispered, pushing the curly tufts of yellow hair away from her eyes before kissing her on the cheek. "Mwah!," he beamed at his giggling daughter. "Can dada get a kiss, too?"

"Mwah!," Sophie grinned cheekily, mimicking him.

"Thank you," he said as he tickled her on the neck.

"You… welcome…" she giggled.

Mike turned around to get his key back and close the door with Sophie still in his arms.

"Hi, honey!"

He turned back, not quite able to help but beam at the sight of Phoebe walking toward him.

"Hey, babe."

She rested against him, her hands settling on his chest. Mike wrapped his free arm around her and leaned in, but she turned away just as he was about to give her a kiss.

"Hey, Jim Morrison," Phoebe shifted her attention to the currently oblivious ten-year-old on the couch. "Go to your room and put a shirt on," she said sternly.

" _But there is no freedom in this world, he said, the naked sunman said, no freedom, we ain't got no freedom…_ " MJ carried on playing his guitar.

"Dinner's in five minutes and you're not having any if you don't go and put a shirt on like I said now."

MJ got off the couch in a beat, but still playing as he walked up the stairs to his room. " _Oh he said, please, mama, don't be so cruel. Please, please don't…_ "

"I didn't know we were having Jim Morrison over for dinner," Mike asked his wife playfully as the music faded upstairs.

"Yea, I know," Phoebe huffed. "Well, I don't care if he's famous. No one's having dinner at my house without a shirt on."

Mike chuckled and leaned in to give her a tender kiss.

"Oh…" Phoebe sighed when he pulled back slightly. She smiled wide, staring into his eyes.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi, yours-" Phoebe cut away as Mike started kissing her again.

"Mmm…happy…mmm…anniversary…mmm…eve…mmm," she squeezed words in between. Mike was not loosening his embrace enough for her to pull away.

"Uh-oh."

They stopped when they heard their daughter whisper. Her little hands were covering her eyes.

"Oh no," Phoebe pulled back. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Mummy and Daddy are sorry," she cupped Sophie's face gently.

"Right, no need to see how much Mummy and Daddy love each other," Mike set Sophie back down and she immediately waddled away, shaking her head as she tottered to her play pen just a couple of steps from her astonished parents. She had her back turned to them like a disapproving adult.

Phoebe sighed. "I swear, sometimes, I feel like she's the tiny version of your mother," she stared at her daughter, a mix of awe and discomfort painted on her face.

Mike let out a laugh and pulled her back into an embrace. "Good thing, she got almost everything else from you," he gave her one more tender kiss before picking up the plant he'd brought home. "I got you something."

Phoebe smiled wide as he showed her the orchids. "Oh, honey, these are pretty! And they're in a pot, yay, they're not dead!"

#

Mike stared at the ceiling distractedly as he crashed back into the comforter, panting. He struggled a little to swallow whatever breath he could to calm his deeply heaving chest, his vision still slipping in and out of black. He could almost feel his heart palpitating against the floor.

He turned over to his side and smiled as he watched his wife having just as much difficulty.

Phoebe giggled. "How was that?," she asked breathlessly.

Mike draped his arm around her stomach and pulled her in, lifting her up a bit so she was lying on top of him. He shut his eyes tight as he felt her slick, sweaty body meld with his own, her long hair cascading down and brushing against his cheeks, their heavy breaths syncing with each other. Phoebe rested her forehead on top of his.

"I didn't even know any of that was possible" he finally said.

"Well, now you know," Phoebe cupped both her hands on his face and brushed her lips against his. She moved to get off him but he held her in place.

"No, no, wait, don't move yet."

"Honey, we've gone four times," Phoebe laughed. "You have an early thing at the studio tomorrow, remember?"

Mike sighed, conceding reluctantly. "You're right. Okay."

Phoebe slid off him and stood up. He stayed back, watching with a satisfied grin as she strode completely naked toward the bed. He crashed right next to her soon after. He slipped into the covers and spooned her, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, exhaling contentedly.

Outside the window, Manhattan was as alive as always. The lights from the buildings painting the dark sky with streaks of varying colors and the noise, though muted behind the glass, still droned faintly in the background.

Mike felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him.

"You know something?" Phoebe turned back suddenly, snapping him out of it. "I've never seen a falling star in New York in, like, twelve years."

"Yea?"

"Mm-hmm. The last time I saw one, I was walking in Central Park with David, you know, my ex-boyfriend, David?"

Mike coughed upon hearing the name.

"He was holding my hand when I saw it flash quickly across the sky…" she continued anyway.

Mike tried suppressing his annoyance with how his wife's story was going.

"Do you know what I wished for?"

"I don't know. What did you wish for?"

She sighed dreamily. "I wished I was holding hands with you."

Mike felt his heart swell with happiness, as he searched his head for what to say. His breath caught in his throat, her green eyes twinkling as they stared at him in the blue darkness.

"I guess I just haven't noticed the stars that have fallen for the last twelve years because I've already gotten everything I can possibly wish for," she carried on. "A husband who's pretty much a rock star, a son who's going to be a rock star, and a daughter who will grow up to be the lawyer of rock stars."

He beamed, genuinely happy hearing how Phoebe summed up their life and knowing she was right. His mind flashed back to two years ago – to the worst-turned-best day of his life. The mounting bills, the eviction notice under the apartment door, the email from some guy representing The Foo Fighters saying they chose to not sign the contract and to not do the record at his then-unknown recording studio. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table and Phoebe's hand massaging his back, her voice telling him it was going to be alright, but knowing she was holding back her tears as well. He remembered MJ, just eight years old then, walking into the room with an iPad in his little hands, how his face was lit up with absolute glee as he squealed excitedly, ' _Daddy, Mommy, listen, listen!_ ' He remembered the remix, his wife's singing voice in a collection of her old recordings, the unbelievably innovative beat, the names of underground music critics underneath headlines declaring Michael Jonah Hannigan II as the next best producer in the independent scene. He remembered when the worst morning of his life turned into the best day he could ever imagine, with his son single-handedly saving their recording studio as the remix collection got a hundred thousand downloads in a span of ten hours; the phone calls that followed from independent bands, some he recognized, some he didn't, trying to book a schedule; how he chanced upon Phoebe lulling Sophie to sleep with one of his old law books and how, just before his one-year-old daughter drifted off, she murmured her first word ever. _Parole_.

The red numbers on the digital clock sitting atop his night stand blinked 12:01.

"Happy 12th anniversary, Mikey," Phoebe whispered, bringing him back from his reverie.

"Happy 12th anniversary, Phoeb," he kissed her tenderly, gently taking her hand and placing it on his chest. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she giggled. "I love you more."

He grinned. "Still not possible," he said, drowning any more of her words before she could say them with another kiss.

_'If I had to wish right now, do you know what I would wish for? I wish I knew you before I even thought I could love anybody else. I wish I hadn't spent nine years of my life seeing marriage as a miserable, pointless, hateful thing. I wish I had you before I had you, so that I'd share more memories of being with you. I wish right now was always what I had, and that always what I'd wish for, was always to be with you.'_

The words fell into place in his head as they both drifted off to sleep.

Outside, a falling star flashed across the sky, its streak disappearing behind the city lights after a brief second.


End file.
